Virulent
by LiveInMyHead
Summary: Sam and Dean confront a creature in a cave system and end up stumbling onto something much older and more powerful. One of the brothers will have to save the other from a fate worse than death, but not all is as it seems.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - Hello! I didn't expect to get this going so soon, I don't want you all to get sick of me, but it's been nagging at me, so I gave in. Despite all appearances, I promise this is not a death fic. I hate to ruin anything right up front, but I don't want to worry anyone. This is set mid season 4, but will not really focus on the main mythology of that season. It's really a case fic at heart.

Disclaimer - Supernatural and all things wonderful on that show are not mine, yadda, yadda, yadda.

* * *

"Sammy, please. Why are you doing this?" Dean's muffled voice drifted up to him, strained and thin with pleading and bewilderment, thick with the tears that he was, no doubt, still trying to hide, even though Sam couldn't see him.

Another shovelful of dirt fell onto the pale golden wood of the coffin, the starkness of it splashed with the dark, wet soil like a Rorschach painting. From six feet up, it almost looked like a vulture, a scavenger, the shape of the stain in Dean's soul leaking out, trying to escape. Sam glared at it, hating that the figure still moving and fighting under that lid was still technically his brother, almost as much as he despised himself for doing this to Dean, but it had to be done. Dean didn't understand now and Sam was going to see to it that he never had to. There was no need for Dean to know what he was going to become, what was lurking inside his big brother's skin, changing and morphing him into something unclean. Sam had seen enough for both of them.

"It's for the best, Dean. It's going to be okay, I promise," Sam called back down, unable to keep the words from trembling and cracking, his insides pulsing and screaming with horror at what he was doing, but he couldn't stop. Sam meant what he said with every part of his being; it was for the best. He chucked more dirt into the grave, trying to ignore the sound it made when it hit the wood. He'd done this before, buried his brother, and while it had been devastating before, this was so much worse.

Before Dean had already been dead and silent. This time, he was alive and all he knew was that he was going to die and that Sam had put him there. Sam had to hear his pleading, his struggles, his fear. He was reminded with every shovelful of dirt who was in that coffin, of what Sam was doing.

Sam cringed at the sounds of Dean's hands scratching and thumping at the planks, trying to loosen the ropes that had them tied behind his back, but Sam had learned knots from the best; John Winchester. There wasn't going to be enough time for his brother to get out of them. His feet were kicking furiously, attempting to do the same thing, but Sam knew all he was doing was shredding the skin on his bare feet. Sam wanted to beg him to stop, to refrain from hurting himself, but it would just be something else Dean wouldn't understand.

Sam was about to bury him alive, after all, what were some scratches and splinters in the face of that?

"We can talk about this, okay? Just stop and tell me what's going on. I'll stay right here, all right? Where am I going to go, right?" Dean was using his best calming voice, the one that exuded confidence and understanding, filled with the promise that he would make it right. It had almost always worked on Sam before.

It was almost working now.

All the times he had nearly lost his brother, the too recent time that he actually had, he had never stopped trying to save him, bring him back from whatever calamity befell him. It felt so very wrong to now be the instrument of his destruction. Sam wasn't responsible for his death, that fault rested with the thing that had attacked him in the cave. What Sam was doing was mercy, it was relieving Dean from the burden of becoming a monster. He wasn't actually killing him, his brother was already dead. He was just speeding up the process, saving Dean from the pain of feeling himself change any more than he already had.

"I'm taking care of you, Dean. For once, I'm saving you before the bad thing happens, before something awful is done to try and fix it," Sam insisted, pausing for a moment and leaning over the shovel. "Because it can't be fixed, I know that," he finished on a whisper that Dean couldn't hear.

A hot drop of wetness hit the top of his hand that was folded over the handle of the shovel and he contemplated its presence in confusion, not sure where it had come from. He traced that same warm moisture to the planes of his cheeks, understanding now that he was crying. Of course he was. He had lost his brother again and, while he was going to save him from something worse than death, it didn't change that he was never going to see him again. He'd said and thought that many times in his life, and they always managed to come back to each other, but Sam knew that this was truly it.

He had lived without Dean before, but he knew he couldn't do it again. He had just gotten him back. This was going to break him down into little pieces that could float in a breeze that would eventually become a gale of hell fire that would burn every bit of him away. Because he would burn for what he was doing, he could already feel the flames starting to singe the edges of his tattered soul. But he would do it for Dean, because Dean would do it for him, had done it, over and over.

"What's going to happen, Sammy? I don't understand, what did I do?"

That broken little question nearly buckled Sam's knees, but his grasp on the shovel kept him upright. He wasn't able to stop the sob that tore out of him. Maybe he should have waited until Dean had moved further into the change, until he wasn't so much Dean anymore as he was a thing, a creature. It may have begged too, but Sam would know it was trying to play him. But now? Right now? This was Dean laying in the ground, bound and confined, frightened and mystified as to why Sam was killing him.

Shit, could he really do this?

"Sam? Come on, you don't want to do this. I can hear you crying, you big girl, that's not exactly the action of someone happy with their choices, you know? Just talk to me, man. Please, tell me what's happened and I'll fix it. I can fix it, Sammy, just tell me what it is."

He hated to hear Dean beg and that's what he was doing; begging Sam to spare his life. He tried to inject his trademark cheekiness into it, but Sam could hear the desperation. Sam's crying so audibly was causing Dean pain; he had always hated to see Sam cry, but it was also making him think that there was hope that Sam would stop. That was cruel, because he wouldn't. He knew Dean would rather be dead than be one of those things. If he was truly doing this for malicious purposes, Sam would tell him what was happening, what had already happened, but he wasn't. He loved his brother more than anything and he would show him just how much.

Sam had his answer. Yes, he could really do this. He had to.

Another clump of earth fell onto the coffin. Dean screamed his name in terror and frustration this time and it pierced Sam right in the heart, but it didn't stop him from shoveling more dirt into the hole, the pale sheen of the wood almost obliterated by the darkness of the dirt. He wished it didn't have to be this way, suffocation wasn't the nicest way to die and the mental anguish Dean was going through was probably even worse, but he couldn't risk it getting out of Dean's body before he could dispose of it. He had to die contained, as deep in the ground as possible, so it wouldn't infect anyone else.

"God dammit, Sam, what the hell is wrong with you?" Dean shouted, struggling even harder now, the thumps on the wood raging and frantic. It was getting harder to hear him clearly, the heaviness of the soil dampening the sound. "This is crazy! You aren't seriously going to bury me for no fucking reason, are you? Didn't get enough of this the first time? Sam? Sammy? Please! You can't….fuck…you can't kill me without telling me why!"

Sam wanted to give Dean the answers he so desperately needed, but Sam promised himself that he wouldn't. It was better if he died not knowing how close he came to one of his greatest fears. At least this way, he didn't have to try and spend what little time he had left worrying and consoling his little brother. He didn't have to work to find a cure that didn't exist. He didn't have to lose himself and hurt those he loved while the change continued along its despicable course. Sam had seen it, it was now, or never. He had to take care of it now, or it would take over Dean. Then it would be too late.

"I'm so sorry Dean, I can't, but please believe that I'm doing this for you. It's the only way to save you. I love you, big brother. And don't worry. If I'm lucky, I'll be seeing you soon," Sam promised, even though he was more than aware he didn't have a chance in…well hell, of following Dean, but it helped him to say it. Dean had served his time in hell, he didn't think he was sending him back there. Dean had a spot in heaven. Sam though? Even if he hadn't been drinking demon blood for the past few months, killing his brother wasn't going to earn him a trip upstairs, no matter the purity of his motivation, and what he planned to do after was going to be the cherry on the top. After all, he had no intention of leaving his brother here alone. As soon as he was sure it was done, the gun in his pocket would take care of him, too. It was better than he deserved, he should have found a way to die gasping and terrified like his brother, but it was the fastest way to try and follow Dean.

The fastest way to escape the pain and abhorrence of what he'd done.

"Oh God, Sammy, please." It was very hard to hear Dean now, the dirt almost a foot thick. He was coughing and even as far up as he was, Sam could hear him laboring for air. He knew it was just panic, that Dean still had plenty of air, but that was all logic and reason, it didn't make it okay, because Dean still thought he was running out and soon would. Sam's teeth clamped down on his lip to try and contain the wail that wanted to break free at the sounds of Dean's struggle, his agony. Sam hated this so much, but he had no other choice. He had seen it.

"Love you, Dean," Sam said brokenly, knowing Dean probably wouldn't hear him now, but he needed to say it again. Because he did, so much. So much that Sam was willing to sacrifice his entire reason for living, the man he just got back from hell, to save him, make up for when he'd failed so badly before.

"Sammy." Sam had to kneel down and bend his head in to hear now, and he knew he should keep filling in the hole, should end Dean's suffering, end his own, but he wanted to get every last moment he could.

"It's okay. I forgive you."

Sam hunched over then, burying his face in his muddy hands, shoulders shaking violently as the sobs tore out of him, no longer under his control. The relief that filled him was so strong and so heartbreaking. He had been hoping that Dean would trust him just this one last time, that he would understand that Sam was doing it for the best reasons. That he wouldn't hate him for it. And Dean came through for him a final time, just like he always did.

"Thanks Dean," he responded huskily, trying to sniff away his tears.

There was nothing more from Dean after that. Sam pulled himself to his feet, knowing that if Dean wasn't gone, he would be soon, and he needed more dirt in between the world and that thing inside him. He locked away the grief that was rising within him, afraid to allow it in for even a moment. It would break him down. It was temporary, he wouldn't be feeling anything very soon. He just had one more thing to do.

Now that Dean wasn't pleading anymore and chipping away at his determination to see this done, Sam was able to work much faster, his empty and bleak eyes fixed on the rapidly filling grave, his movements robotic in their precision.

Finally, it was done.

Sam stood back, viciously throwing the shovel to the side. Sweat was pouring into his face, even though it was freezing outside, and he swiped it away with a filthy forearm. He looked at the mound of dirt with a mixture of triumph and tragedy, knowing it couldn't possibly get out now, but the cost had been severe. He could feel the burden of what he'd done starting to weigh on him, busting through the tight lid he'd put on his emotions. It was time to finish it all.

Sam took out his gun. With one smooth motion, he cocked it and put it to his head.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

Sam jolted awake, images that had been so clear in their grief stricken, horrific glory, starting to break apart into the distant softness of dreams barely remembered. A quick, panicked glance over at bed next to him revealed a vague Dean shaped lump in the bed next to him and he relaxed back into the pillows in relief. That had been a hell of a nightmare. He had been burying his brother. Thought he was someone else….or becoming something else. It wasn't too clear now. It left him feeling shaky and hollow, the very thought of it enough to make him shudder.

Sam swallowed thickly, trying to push the terrible nightmare out of his mind. He had already buried his brother once, but it had been nothing like that. Must be some crazy shit stored away in his mind to conjure that one up. With a sigh, Sam ran a weary hand through his hair, grimacing in disgust as he encountered the wet strands, further exploration revealing that he was dripping in sweat. His muscles and joints ached too, like he had been beaten. Had he been sick? He hadn't felt sick before he went to sleep, but he certainly felt like he'd just woken up from a really bad flu. If he was coming down with something, that could certainly explain that awful dream.

Sam dragged himself out of the bed, grimacing at the unexpected aches and pains that lit up in his back and legs. He wasn't sure exactly what had caused that, it was more physical exertion strain than illness. Maybe it was from tromping all over the cave with Dean. They had done a lot of climbing and even more running.

He headed to the bathroom in the near darkness with a guiding hand out in front of him, his knuckles thudding painfully against something solid when he collided with an obstruction that shouldn't there. He frowned and patted gingerly over the wall in confusion until he found the opening of the bathroom. He could have sworn it was closer to his bed than Dean's, but apparently not. He felt for the switch and flicked it on, his eyes narrowing reflexively to block out some of the bright glare. Bending over to turn on the faucet, his gaze was arrested by the state of the hand resting on the knob.

It was filthy, covered in dirt, blisters and blood. He jerked up his other one in front of his face to see the same thing. Starting to panic now, Sam met his own bloodshot and confused eyes in the mirror, but they quickly drifted to the dark streaks of dirt tracing down his cheeks, striped across his forehead. The tear tracks that wove a clean path down the grime covering his face.

Another rushed survey revealed that he was fully dressed in equally stained and dirty clothes. They were not the clothes he was wearing when he went to bed last night. He distinctly remembered putting on his plaid sleep pants and t shirt. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he was wearing these jeans and this button up shirt in his nightmare.

He looked back up at his reflection in the mirror like he was going to see something different, but it was the same shocked, dirty face staring back at him. That's when the bright coral walls of the bathroom caught his eye. That's why the bathroom hadn't been where he thought.

This wasn't the same bathroom he brushed his teeth in last night.

Cold fear settled into his guts, nausea starting to churn its vile way into his stomach. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, sprinting out from the bathroom, the light spilling into the darkened room.

He ripped the covers away from the figure in the bed, his heart stilling in his chest when he saw that it was Dean's duffel and pillow tossed haphazardly on the mattress. No Dean. Alarm sped along his veins, the soul destroying things he'd seen in that nightmare coming back to him. Oh God, what had he done?

Please no, please don't let him have buried his brother. He wasn't sure who he was asking. Just anyone who was listening.

Sam stepped back from the empty bed in stuttering horror, his normally sharp mind dull with panic and fear, his foot banging against something hard. Sam turned to see what it was and what little control he had over the situation failed.

It was a shovel, covered in mud.

* * *

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - I do apologize for the wait on this. I got the flu, Season 9 is driving me bonkers and sucking up all my inspiration...excuses, excuses. I will try to get updates out more frequently from here on out! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_4 Days Ago_

"Eww," Dean groaned distastefully, his lips twisting in disgust, even as he leaned forward so his fascinated eyes could see whatever was displaying on the screen of the laptop even better.

The brothers were in their crappy motel room that was awkwardly decorated in some strange motif of camouflage and floral. The walls were covered with muted rose wallpaper and the bedspreads looked like they were made out of hunters' retired blinds. Not the oddest they had seen, but odd enough to have earned Dean's disdainful shake of the head when they had first arrived.

They had taken up residence at the dinky table by the window while they ate their breakfast, which consisted of coffee and donuts. Sam would have complained, but that's what you needed to expect when Dean got up first and went to get breakfast. Which was happening more often now that Dean was back from Hell. He didn't talk about the nightmares that woke him up and kept him up, but Sam could see the evidence in the circles under his eyes. They were present again this morning.

Sam looked over the lid of his coffee cup with raised eyebrows, sipping the hot brew, waiting for Dean to expand on his remark. He didn't have to wait long.

"Hold on to your donut, Sam. This is pretty foul," Dean warned with a challenging glint in his eye, swinging the laptop around so Sam could see it.

Setting the coffee down, Sam pulled the laptop closer to him, leaning over to get a better angle. At first, he couldn't make out what he was seeing; red, dark brown and more red. There were multiple pictures showing different images of a body, but it was blanketed in blood. Eyes were obscured by congealed wells of the dark fluid, every other centimeter of exposed flesh covered in blood that was in various stages of drying, painting patterns of bright red to rusty and flaked brown. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to spot any wounds, but there was nothing immediate in what he could see. The body was fully dressed, so whatever had caused all the blood must be underneath.

"Two people found like that," Dean continued on, Sam's eyes flicking back up at him before returning to the screen. "Max and Cynthia Fletcher. They were biologists, specialized in looking for new medicines in places not already raped by people. Which would in turn lead to those places being wiped out if they did find something, but hey, that's why everyone hates irony. Anyway, they found some new cave system down in New Mexico near the Mexico border. Set out on a Friday and when Sunday rolled around and they still weren't back or answering phone calls, the families called the authorities. When they were found…blood soup. Get this, they were exsanguinated, but outside of two small holes on the arm of one, the shoulder of the other, there are no wounds. They just bled out of every orifice, and I mean _every_ orifice," Dean added meaningfully in a twisted blend of horror and awe.

"So naga then," Sam stated, turning the laptop back around to Dean. It was one of the entries in Dad's journal that had fascinated him as a kid. A rare supposedly immortal creature that was half man, half snake. Its bite was extremely poisonous, but except for the standard symptoms of a snake bite, the victims are basically liquefied inside and bleed out all their blood and dissolved organs from every opening they have, from eyes to pores. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fast.

"Yep," Dean agreed. He looked back down at the pictures in front of him, shaking his head sympathetically. "Poor bastards." He briefly saluted the image on the screen with his coffee and took a big swig. "The coroner found some sort of unidentified parasite in their blood, but this pair had just returned from an extended hellcation in the Amazon or some other place humans have no business being, so who knows what they picked up. The rest of the blood chemistry matches up with a naga attack; an agent similar to hydrochloric acid. The coroner is blaming it on the weird parasite, didn't even mention venom, so we shouldn't have too much trouble with a full scale investigation at the cave."

"What about the bites, what are they saying about that?" Sam asked.

"They aren't. Barely a mention of it in the report. Probably saw whatever parasite was in them and shipped the bodies off to the CDC without another glance," Dean theorized.

That would make sense. Two bodies found in that condition with a strange parasite in their blood and finding out they had just returned from the rainforest? A small town coroner would clear them out as quickly as possible. They wouldn't be thinking beyond that, wouldn't question the bite marks, wouldn't look for other answers. The CDC would, but they had some time there. It's not like the CDC knew about nagas, at least he didn't think they would.

"Man, there hasn't been a naga in the states…" Sam paused, having to think.

"Since Dad and Pastor Jim killed it, about twenty years ago," Dean provided. "Well them and three other hunters. Only three of them came back, including Dad and Jim. Dad said it was one of the hardest things to kill he'd ever come into contact with."

"Don't they usually live by water? Why would one be in a cave in the desert?" Sam asked, trying to remember if Dad's journal mentioned anything about it.

"Well while you were sleeping like a pretty princess, I discovered that some nagas do prefer caves over rivers or lakes. Besides, there could be an underground lake or something in the cave. The police report said there was no record of anyone ever having discovered it before our unlucky spelunkers, so was probably a good place to be," Dean explained before stuffing another donut in his mouth.

"Most nagas are peaceful, this one probably felt threatened and struck out," Sam observed with a note of sympathy. The one that Dad had killed had been protecting territory, too. Some loggers came across it in a deep forest up in Canada and it had made….well, to coin Dean, "blood soup" out of them. "Did you find any other reports of similar deaths in the area?"

Dean shook his head, not seeming to notice the powdered sugar now coating his lips that now puffed out in a fine mist before him with his every word and exhale. "Not that I could find, so it would have either been too far back for newspapers, or it had truly stayed buried in its cave." Dean looked up at Sam, something in his gaze that seemed to match Sam's inner struggle with killing a creature that hadn't hurt anyone before being intruded upon. "I get it, Sam, and I don't like it either, but you know there's going to people all over that place now. Families, kids. It's not like there's a halfway house for nagas where we can drop it off. It's too risky that it will kill again."

Sam knew Dean was right, but it didn't make him feel any better about it. Hunting something just because it was defending itself, reacting in self defense when faced with something it may have never even seen before just didn't seem quite right. It was just using the weapons it had at its disposal to keep it safe and protected. It never intended to cause any harm, at least none that they had any proof of.

But as Sam was rapidly learning, intentions didn't mean shit over the actions.

"Yeah, I know. All right, so we need an obsidian blade coated with that naga blood mixture Bobby spun up," Sam said, moving on to business before he started to go down that same path of self recrimination, anger and doubt that he'd been walking since Dean came back.

"Got it, Dad still had his knife and there is still some extra spicy naga juice on it," Dean confirmed, gesturing to a cloth wrapped object sitting on top of his duffle.

Sam's eyes narrowed doubtfully at that. "Will twenty year old blood still do it?"

Shrugging, Dean answered, "Should. Didn't see anything about an expiration date." He reached out to get another donut, frowning in disappointment when his fingers only encountered an empty box.

Sam wasn't comforted. "Should," he repeated flatly. Dean just looked at him. Sam sighed and asked, "Do we have the antidote?" Bobby hadn't contributed that particular recipe, that had come from a witch from way back when that Dad had written about in his journal. At least it had been tested and proven to work.

Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Yes, we have the antidote, or at least the recipe for the antidote. We have most of it, just need to stop at one of those hippy herb stores and get the rest. We just take it about an hour before we head in and then that naga can chew on us all it wants."

"That better not be the plan. I'm not playing bait for something with teeth like that," Sam warned.

"Don't worry, I won't let the big snake get you," Dean assured him solemnly with a mocking glint in his eyes. "No one needs to be bait, Sam, I have a feeling it will come to us. It's probably good and pissed right now. I'm just hoping no one bites it before we get there. Heh! Bites it," he repeated with a chuckle, shaking his head in appreciation at his own unintended pun.

Sam took another sip of coffee, thinking back over what Dean had said that had grabbed his attention earlier. 'This parasite the coroner mentioned, there's no possibility that it did cause this and we're not really after a naga?"

"Well we're definitely dealing with a naga. The snake bite, the acid venom, no doubt about it. Whatever STD they picked up in the rainforest isn't our problem," Dean said firmly.

"Okay, so we're a day out of New Mexico?" Sam asked, doing some quick math in his head.

Dean dropped the laptop lid down and stood, chucking his empty coffee cup into the trash. "Yeah, about that. I found one of those herbal stores a few towns away, so we'll hit that, then be on our way."

It didn't take them long to pack up and head out, the Impala waking up with an eager growl to get back on the road.

* * *

"Jesus Christ!" Dean shouted, the words sounding like more of an actual prayer than a curse, ducking down faster than Sam thought was possible, narrowly avoiding the heavily clawed swipe from the naga that would have seriously rearranged his face. They were both already bleeding from several other vicious scratches and Dean had a ghastly cut on his temple from the close up look he'd gotten of the cave floor when the naga threw him.

They were officially not feeling sorry about killing it anymore.

Dean had been right, the naga had been waiting for more visitors, but it wasn't pissed. It was violently, furiously, megawratfhofGod mad. Sam and Dean had been in the cave for a matter of moments, just far enough in that the daylight outside didn't penetrate, when they had heard the rattle that signified the naga's warning. It wasn't actually a warning, though, it had merely preceded the sight of the creature itself, charging at them from the darkness into the light of the clip on flashlights before they could react.

It was quite stunning, really. It stood nearly as tall as Dean, but it was wider than Sam. The lower half was all snake, the creature standing upright on a thick, muscular tail of white and pale yellow scales narrowing to a tip with a deep gold rattle. From the midline up, it had a man's body, a strong torso and well defined arms covered in those same white and lemon scales. Above the neck, though, it was again all snake, a nightmare large version of a King Cobra, the flared black hood rising over eyes that were gold and furious, wide mouth filled with dripping fangs and a darting forked tongue.

There had been very little time to appreciate the appearance of the rare creature or the sinuous beauty of its movements because it was on them and attacking without pause. Claws that were at least five inches long were slashing at them, ripping through clothes and flesh like butter, its movements impossibly fast and fluid as it propelled itself around them with its powerful tail, seeming to dart in between them in the blink of an eye.

Dean had fashioned the obsidian blade into a lance of sorts, using leather thongs to attach it securely to a thin steel pole, wanting to keep as much distance between those fangs and them as possible. Yes, they had taken the antidote and the venom wouldn't kill them if it managed to bite them, but it would still hurt like holy hell to have six inches worth of razor sharp fangs sink into your body. Since Sam had the greater arm reach, he was given the makeshift lance while Dean would use the shotgun and the rest of his arsenal to distract it from a distance.

It was a good plan. They just hadn't counted on how quick the damn thing would be. Dad had noted that in his journal, but he really could have exaggerated more. Fast didn't quite cover it. Freak of nature equipped with lightening speed would have been more apt.

So both of them were bleeding from a bevy of superficial scratches and several deeper ones that might require more attention, but they had managed to keep the thing at bay. Sam had dealt it a few wounds, too, black blood dribbling slowly from the cuts, but they could stab it all day without killing it. It had to be decapitated or no dice. They saw the evidence of this first hand when Dean unloaded the shotgun in its face, the bullet wounds just closing over like the thing was made out of water.

"We can't keep this up all day, Dean!" Sam called out in irritation, deflecting the naga's arm with the lance again, as sweat poured down his face. It felt like they had been dodging and weaving this thing for hours, their efforts throwing a frenetic pattern of shadows on the walls of the cave, their energy slowly draining away like their blood, and exhaustion was starting to take its toll and slow them down. That would mean death with this thing. Just because they were immune to the poison didn't mean the naga couldn't rip them apart or bleed them out. Something had to be done fast.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock," Dean grumbled back, narrowly missing the swing from the naga's tail that was aimed at his knees.

Sam moved in with a quick jab that cut into its tail, an unearthly screech emitting from the creature as it turned his way. This time, its hasty grab managed to connect with the pole, and it wrenched it out of Sam's hands before he even knew what was happening.

"Shit!"

He wasn't sure who said it, maybe him, maybe Dean, maybe even both, but Sam was now the one ducking as the naga threw the pole. Too late, he realized that it wasn't throwing it at him, but behind him. Into the gaping pit of darkness that he had only caught glimpses of in the dancing beam of their flashlights.

"Uh Dean? We got a problem!" Sam called out in panic, his hasty dodge not enough to save him from getting scratches upon scratches from the naga's claws. Damn, that burned.

"Please don't tell me it just threw the knife, anything but that," Dean groaned from somewhere to his right.

A gun fired behind him, but aside from a slight flinch, the naga didn't notice or let up on its assault as it edged Sam closer to the chasm.

"It threw the knife," Sam answered flatly, too busy dodging claws to bother trying to make a joke out of it.

"Son of a bitch. Well plan B then," Dean said wearily, the glow of his flashlight coming up to the side of the naga.

Sam took another swipe of claws across his arm as he tried to swing around to the side. The naga was very carefully keeping him hedged in and moving towards the pit it had thrown the knife into. Sam had a feeling it wasn't going to be a short fall, but a nice long deadly one. It didn't seem to care one bit about what Dean was doing, having dismissed his weapons as worthless, and was focused solely on the one who had actually hurt it.

"We don't have a plan B, Dean!" Sam argued, Dean's words finally filtering in.

"Just made it up," Dean responded confidently, but with an edge of worry underneath it, now behind the naga.

Sam's 'Oh shit' meter skyrocketed at that. Dean's on the fly plans usually had a tendency to work, but not without its price and the only thing they had that could actually hurt the naga was now resting somewhere probably far below them, in the dark bowels of the cave.

He wasn't sure what Dean was planning, and it didn't become any more obvious when he saw his brother's arms go around the creature, his own normal steel knife out and buried into the naga's chest.

"To your right, Sam!" Dean shouted.

It was then that Sam noticed Dean had actually launched at the naga and both of them were rapidly approaching him. Years of following the necessary commands to successfully fight things faster and stronger than them, Sam did as Dean demanded almost by muscle memory and dove to the right, but even as he did so, he recalled what was behind him.

A whole bunch of nothing.

"Dean, no!" Sam yelled in warning, but it was too late.

In the beam of his flashlight, he saw both the naga and his brother go over the side, Dean's own light throwing crazy shadows on the opposing curved wall of the cave before they were out of sight.

Fear and panic had Sam scrambling to his knees and crawling over to the edge almost as fast as the naga moved, ripping his flashlight free of his coat to shine it into the pit. It was Dean's light he saw first, obviously no longer attached to Dean as he could see it laying on its side on the ground. He did glean some useful information in that moment; it was not nearly as far down as he had expected. He could hear scuffling and he swung his light over to try and find the source.

The naga was on its front, Dean still riding its back, but Dean was rapidly losing the fight to keep it there. The position of power didn't mean a damn thing when what was below you was at least twice as strong as you. It was at least a little hurt, if it's screeching was anything to go by.

Or maybe it was even more pissed off, if that was even possible.

"You all right?" Sam called down.

"Yeah, I'm fantastic, now why don't you make your way down here and get that knife?" Dean hollered back, his voice strained with exertion as he tried to keep the naga down.

Sam swung the flashlight around again, spotting the lance resting on the ground opposite the side that Dean was on. Fucking figures. He drew the light up the side of the wall, quickly identifying some good hand holds and crags to stick his feet. Clipping the flashlight back on, Sam was over the side, quickly and smoothly making his way down the wall. It was only about twenty feet down, but could have seriously injured Dean by going over like that. It was clear he had been planning to land on the naga and use the impact from both sides to try and hurt it, but it had been risky. Too risky. They were going to have a talk about that later.

When Sam hit the ground, he took another look over at Dean to see how he was faring and he was dismayed to see that Dean had indeed lost his position, the naga now bearing Dean down to the ground. The muscles in Dean's arms were bulging and rigid as they fought to keep the naga from dropping down on him with its fangs.

Sam had the lance back in his hands and was ripping the knife away from the leather ties holding it in place. This thing was pissing him off and while the lance was an excellent idea, it didn't provide enough leverage to really get a good hit on it. Right now, though, its back was unprotected and it seemed to be thoroughly engaged in trying to bite Dean's face off.

Dean's scream lit up the air and Sam's head snapped over to see that he had lost the fight, the naga now obscuring the upper half of his body, Dean's arms clawing and punching at its back. Envisioning those deadly fangs in his brother's throat or eyes, Sam launched at the creature, throwing himself at it hard enough that it went flying off of Dean, landing and rolling entwined with Sam on the hard ragged rock floor. Even as Sam felt its claws stabbing into him, the dry rasp of its tongue on his face, he was stabbing it in the junction of that man throat and the start of the snake cowl. Its screams were loud and painful in his ear, but he didn't let up, fighting to maintain his grip on the knife as its blood sprayed all over him.

Some of its weight lessened and Sam caught a glimpse of Dean behind it, attempting to control its arms, but, while it was weakening as Sam continued to hack away at it, it was still stronger than the two of them. It shoved Dean away, darting back down to try for Sam's throat again, but he must have finally hit something important because it suddenly reared back, hands now pawing at the spurting wounds in its neck. Dean was back, finally able to pin those strong arms behind it.

"Finish it, Sammy!" Dean prompted.

He didn't need to be told twice.

Each additional hack at its neck weakened it more and more, to the point it was no longer fighting, no longer screaming. It was just dying. Sam felt like his arm was going to fall off, the muscles burning as he stabbed the knife into tough and resistant flesh over and over again. The head finally fell free of the body in a great gout of black blood, that long tongue still flicking at the air, the tail moving in small twitches.

Dean tossed the body away with a grimace, immediately moving to wipe the blood off his face until he saw that his jacket sleeve was just as sodden with the dark stuff. He looked at it in irritation, trying to find a single dry spot, then finally muttered "Dammit", and gave up.

"You all right?" Dean asked, reaching out a hand to help Sam up.

Sam held up a finger, not quite ready to join the land of the upright. At this point in time, he wasn't sure he ever would be again. He was almost trembling with exhaustion, the cool air of the cave doing nothing to alleviate the sweat and heat rolling off of him. He hadn't had such a physical fight in a while, exorcising demons with your mind didn't really require cardio and heavy lifting. It was clearly time to start working out again.

"Sam?" Dean prompted, worry starting to leak into his voice. Sam realized, that even though he could see Dean pretty well in the beam of the flashlight, Dean couldn't see him at that well.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, just need a minute to catch my breath," he huffed out.

"Man, I hear that," Dean agreed, dropping down heavily at his side. "I could really go with never dealing with another naga again. Ever. I feel like I've been scraped raw with a cheese grater."

"Did it bite you?" Sam asked, recalling the position Dean had been in before he knocked the naga away, peering carefully at the exposed skin of Dean's face and neck, but any wounds he had were obscured by the naga's blood.

"Maybe. Felt like it was stabbing me all over the place. Claws, teeth, what's the difference?" Dean shrugged, then groaned at the movement. "Nothing major wrong, anyway. You?"

"Same here." At the end there, the naga had been close enough to use its fangs, but Sam wouldn't have noticed if it had. He'd been too focused on killing it before it got up again. He didn't think they had the energy for another brawl with it. Looking at them now, he had been very right. Neither of them appeared badly injured, but they were definitely going to need some patching up.

"Shit, we have to climb back up that damn wall," Dean observed painfully. "That really sucks," he groaned, his head dropping into his hands.

That sent a bit of vigor through Sam. "Speaking of the wall, Dean," he started.

"I saw how far down it was earlier," Dean interrupted, knowing right where Sam was going. "I knew if I could just land on snake boy that I wouldn't be feeling any pain, but it might. At least enough for us to get the knife back."

"And if you hadn't landed on it, if it had landed on you?" Sam prompted, still to weary to inject any of the anger he was feeling into his tone.

"Well it didn't," Dean replied with a hint of irritation.

Sam let it go. He could argue with Dean all day about his rash decision, but that might lead Dean to throwing some of his own recent rash decisions back at him and this wasn't the place for a full scale war.

"All right, let's get the hell out of here before we get eaten by bats or whatever else is living in here," Dean said, slowly and painfully making his way to a standing position. He looked down at his gore soaked clothing that was showing in the light from Sam's flashlight mournfully. "There goes half my wardrobe."

Sam chuckled, this time taking the hand Dean newly offered to help him stand. "Mine too. Looks like we have another Walmart run in our future."

Dean shook his head, an expression of horror slackening the lines of his face. "Oh hell no. I don't do Walmart. There's Hell and then there's Walmart. I've been through enough."

Shaking his head with a crooked smile, Sam looked over the two parts of the naga, using his flashlight to highlight its form. "Should we just toss it deeper in the cave, bury it, burn it?" he asked. There was nothing in the journal that indicated that the body needed to be disposed of in any special way.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his Zippo lighter. Flicking it open and lighting it up, he grinned. "So….barbequed snake for dinner?"

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N - Yikes, I suck! I'm so sorry for the delay, I'm trying to do better! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

The blazing corpse of the naga threw all the previously darkened corners of the cave into fiery illumination, the light and shadows carving shapes and patterns into the earthen walls like some living wallpaper that shifted depending on what second you looked at it. While Dean was gathering up the various items that had fallen out of his pockets during his short term flight, grumbling as he forced his sore and battered body to bend over to grab the objects, Sam took the time to wander around the area, taking in the smooth curves of the dry wall, the veins of quartz and other metals gleaming in the light. He would have preferred to patch up some of the deeper cuts on his body, and Dean's if he'd let him, but he had left the duffel bag with the first aid stuff in it at the top of the cliff in his haste to get to Dean.

Sam noticed another drop off just beyond where the body currently lay burning, the edge where the light was cut off by the shadow of the cliff making it look like a lake of darkness and nothing, even blacker and emptier than Ruby's demon eyes, It was much deeper, so dark that the flashlight didn't find anything but more darkness. Sam kicked a loose stone into it and waited an uncomfortable amount of time to hear it hit, but it never did. The naga had had Dean pinned close enough to that edge that it could have rolled him into it with no effort. There was no way Dean would have survived that fall, Sam realized with shudder of fear. Another pit for his brother to fall into forever.

Leaning over just slightly, his feet still a firm foot away from the edge, Sam stared down into that abyss, not sure what he was looking for, but there was something more than curiosity driving him. The air drifting up was frigid and smelled of metal, water and something awful that raised his need to flee in instinctual fear. It smelled like old death and blood, and felt wrong, evil. He wanted to back away, but something about it was making him want to look deeper, try to find the bottom.

When Dean had leaned over to see what had Sam so enthralled, he reared back, covering his nose with the back of his hand. "I bet whatever is left of what the naga does eat is down there somewhere. That is nasty. Let's get out of here before I throw up," he said, a hand reaching out to grab Sam and pull him away. Sam didn't miss that it never quite connected and he sighed silently, turning to follow his brother to start the ascent up the cliff.

Getting back up to the top of the wall was as tough as they had expected. Climbing back up was an excruciatingly slow process, their bodies tired and hurting from the fight, leaving them with cramped, shredded fingers and even more frayed tempers. The naga was nearly burned all the way down, just bones and embers left, so their main source of light was their flashlights. The clip on Dean's had broken in his fall, so he was forced to hold it between tightly clenched teeth, non distinct words coming out of his mouth that were still easily recognizable as an unwholesome blend of irritated fucks, dammits, and sonofabitches, when he got too close to the wall with it and smacked it, forcing it to skew sideways, or worse, deeper into his mouth. The cursing got worse when he started to drool and Sam welcomed the laughter that bubbled out of him at the sight, needing the release from tension that had filled him since seeing Dean go over the cliff.

Once at the top, the brothers sprawled out on the ground in a mutual and simultaneous decision for a break, breathing heavily and dripping with sweat. Sam shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the side, feeling the dampness of his shirt start to immediately cool against his heated skin as the gentle breeze in the cave blew over him.

"We should probably patch up," Sam commented absently, but making no move to search down the duffel bag that had the first aid kit in it. His body was still offline with no signs of rebooting in the near future.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Dean sighed, the lack of noise from his direction indicated that he was also staying in the same spread eagled position with not even a hint of intention of movement.

"Hey Dean?" Sam asked, staring at the halo of light his flashlight was directing on the ceiling above him.

"What?" Dean responded wearily.

"This really sucked balls."

Dean laughed a bit at that. "Yeah, it did. Hey, at least we didn't end up like the Fletchers. I'm pretty sure one of us ended up with some naga fang in us. Never thought I'd say this, but I owe that witch a solid."

"Pretty sure she's dead," Sam pointed out.

"Well that works too," Dean answered.

Sitting in the near dark like this, talking light and comfortably, their splayed out positions putting their fingers and feet in close proximity, near enough that Sam could just stretch out a pinky to touch Dean's, he was reminded of better times when they were just kids and didn't have all this explosive baggage between them. No Hell, no Ruby, no demon blood, no looming apocalypse. Just the two of them against the world, maybe not always of one mind, or even of one mission, but there was the security and comfort that they still had each other. That no matter what, they had one other person in the world that had their back.

Things were so fucked up now.

A rustling came from Dean's direction and Sam turned enough for his flashlight to illuminate Dean's general position. His older brother was getting to his feet, less than gracefully, sweeping his flashlight across the rocky floor, finally stopping on the site of their army brown bag. He staggered towards it, his legs obviously as pissed about the climb up the wall as Sam's were.

Sam rolled up to a sitting position, grimacing as he felt the various cuts and bruises on his torso pull at spots that had started to scab over and gape where the slices were too deep to have started any clotting yet. He really hoped he could talk Dean into taking a few days off after this, they were going to need it.

"You have anything we need to handle now, or can you make it outside? I would really welcome some daylight about now," Dean said, hefting the bag up over his shoulder.

Taking a quick mental inventory of his wounds, he identified that there were definitely some slashes that would require a bit of attention, but nothing that was going to bleed him out right this moment. "I'm good."

Dean reached out a hand to assist him up and Sam took it with a smile of thanks, his wince of pain matching Dean's when he helped pull him to his feet. Starting forward, it didn't take them long to see the blackness around them turn to gray, then finally the glow of light that turned that gray into the earthy browns and rusty reds of the cave walls.

The opening of the cave was small and narrow, more of a fissure really, which was the reason it had been undiscovered, at least in recorded history. From outside, it was nearly invisible unless you were standing at just the right angle. Even knowing it was there, Sam and Dean had had a tough time spotting it. How the Fletchers found it was a true mystery.

Dean squeezed out first, dropping down the six feet to the ground with a grunt and a muttered curse. Sam's wider shoulders and extra inches of height made it a bit more challenging to get out the opening, but he was able to contort himself as needed to slip free, dropping down next to Dean.

Now that they were fully in the daylight, they could see what a mess they were, their clothes torn and bloody. Aside from the nasty gash on Dean's head, he had another worrying trail of blood leaking down his neck. Sam followed the line up to the side of his head, his mouth falling open in concern when he arrived at the source. What could be best described (very disgustingly) as a flap was torn away from Dean's scalp just above his ear. It amounted to basically a flesh wound, and not even remotely close to the worst injury he'd ever seen on his brother, but it didn't make it any less horrific to look at.

Seeing the trajectory of Sam's gaze and his reaction to what he was seeing, Dean frowned with a worried "What?", his hand coming up to paw at the area. Sam wanted to smack it away, but he was still frozen in place staring at the bloody patch of Dean's scalp and that piece of skin hanging off of it. As soon as Dean touched it, his fingers immediately caused it to give and wiggle, Sam's stomach deciding to move sideways with it, and tried to shove it back in place.

"Dude, is that my scalp?" Dean asked, somewhere between panic and fascination. Of all the injuries he'd known Dean to have, this was the first time he'd actually had his scalp torn away. It was kind of a landmark event.

"Hey," Sam started, his voice cracking as a wave of nausea rode through him again as Dean tried again to shove the flap back where it was supposed to be only to have it slide free again with a suction like sound. He swallowed violently, trying to keep whatever was fighting to forcefully escape his stomach all down. He'd seen his brother's insides more than once, but for some reason, this little piece of flesh was just freaking him out. "Stop touching it, Dean," he finally got out. "Your hands are disgusting." And it's even more disgusting watching you move it around, he thought, but kept that to himself. That would just be inviting Dean to hold him down and wiggle it right in front of him or something as big brothers tended to do. Well, used to do anyway.

"Well, looks like you'll be doing some stitching after all," Dean said with a shrug, dropping his hand to his side. Sam was a bit surprised that he was the only one finding this a little harder to stomach than normal and then it hit him in an uncomfortable rush of guilt and sympathy. Dean had gone through worse in Hell, much worse. What was a little flap of skin compared to being taken apart everyday?

Sam expected Dean to stop so they could address their injuries, but he just started walking in the direction of where the car was. Sam had the thought to call him back, but then shrugged. It was hot and there was the possibility someone could come by, so maybe it would be better to just leave. As far as he could tell, there wasn't anything so wrong with them that they couldn't make it back to the hotel.

The walk back to the car was silent except for a few grunts and sighs as the bright sun caused stinging sweat to drop into open wounds, the blood starting to dry to a tacky consistency that made their clothes cling to their skin. Dean was limping slightly ahead of him, his normally fluid and graceful movements now stiff and halting. Even landing on the naga, the fall must have done some damage. Sam made a mental note to check for broken bones or swelled up joints when they had their stitches and bandages party.

"Oh Baby, you are a sight for sore eyes," Dean groaned longingly when they finally made it to the car, his bloodied hand reaching out to stroke the quarter panel. He must have noticed the muck on his fingers because he curled them up reluctantly before they could make contact, moving to his jeans to extract the keys instead. He looked up at Sam over the roof.

"You still good?' he asked, the drying blood streaked down his face still making it clear that he was really the one who should be answering that question.

"I'm fine, Dean. You need me to drive?" Sam offered.

Dean just snorted and got into the car with a roll of his eyes. With a shake of his head, expecting no other answer, Sam followed his lead and got in the car.

* * *

Once back at the motel, Dean tried to claim first shower, but Sam put the kibosh on that when he mentioned the matter of his torn scalp. It's not like Sam was looking forward to putting stitches in Dean's head, but it was necessary. By the confused furrow of his brow, Sam judged that Dean had forgotten all about it, but he sat down on the end of his bed with a shrug, pulling off his jacket and button down shirt. Just in his t-shirt now, the extent of the scratches was revealed, bloody rents though the fabric revealing raw, red skin beneath. Sam looked him over with a careful eye as he gathered up the med kit, silently triaging the damage. Besides the scalp wound and the cut on his temple, Sam saw a few other spots that appeared deep enough to require stitches.

Taking off his own jacket, just the sharp ache that flared up at the movement made it clear that Sam had some things to attend to as well, but the scalp wound was the priority. Not because it was life threatening or anything, but because it was squicking him out to stare at it and he wanted all of Dean's scalp to be back where it should be asap.

As he rummaged in the kit and collected the items he would need to attend to his brother, he could feel Dean's eyes on him, assessing and gauging his various wounds. When he didn't immediately order Sam to sit or get up to fuss over him, Sam took that to mean there was no major damage.

"Bathroom. I'll need the light," Sam ordered.

Dean got to his feet with a muted moan and shuffled into the bathroom, plunking himself down on the closed toilet seat. Sam could see him resume playing with the flap of skin hanging loose on his head and once again fought the urge to tell him to stop, or to vomit all over him.

Dean groaned when Sam pulled the peroxide out of the kit. "C'mon, use the vodka. That shit is like battery acid," he pleaded.

"Oh, so you want an infection on your head? All pus-filled and inflamed? That will really work on the chicks," Sam said with a smile, stepping into the bathroom and laying out his tools next to the sink.

With a defeated sigh, Dean just hung his head, his hands already clenching in preparation. "All right, but dab, don't pour," he barked out.

"Tell you what, I'll save the peroxide for last. I'll start with soap and water first, all right?" Sam really did sympathize, he knew first hand how much peroxide hurt, but he could see the dirt and other nasty things that had to be cleared before that piece of skin was put back into place.

"Whatever. Just do it, Sam," Dean said wearily.

Sam mixed up some soap and lukewarm water in a carefully rinsed out beer bottle. Sam positioned the towel under the flap, putting pressure on where it was still attached to try and prevent the water from going places he didn't want it to. He held up the liquid, his eyes fixed on the bone revealed, the specks of dirt and what looked like it could even be gravel.

Then one of those gravel pieces moved.

It wasn't the natural movement of something with a bit of weight to it sliding on a slick surface, it was deliberate and went up into the space where Dean's scalp was still in its rightful place against Dean's head. Sam drew in a sharp breath, startled and confused at what he'd seen. He identified another piece of debris that looked like the other one had, but it stayed innocently in place, just a bit of gravel. He poked at it carefully, feeling the solid object stick beneath his finger, the tackiness of the blood causing it to stick and come away when he removed his finger. It fell before he could examine it closer, pinging on the floor and rolling to rest against the wall. Just a rock after all.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked irritably, his head jerking back to escape Sam's prodding.

"Oh, uh..nothing. Sorry," Sam said, shaking his head. It had been a rough day for both of them, he was clearly in need of some rest if he was seeing rocks hide themselves in Dean's head.

He attended to his task quickly and efficiently, cleaning the wound with the soapy water, followed by a hasty application of peroxide to kill anything he missed. He grimaced when Dean hissed in pain, or tensed up beneath him, but didn't stop. The sooner it was over, the better. The stitching took longer, Sam wanting to make it as clean and unnoticeable as possible. He kept the stitches small and close together, until the flap was reunited with the rest of Dean's scalp. Through all of it, he didn't see anything else move when it shouldn't and he had definitely been looking. No, nothing sinister going on, just weariness and pain making him seem things. It happens.

Sam felt a million times better when Dean's head was back to normal, the wound barely visible within the thickness of his hair. "Be careful with that, okay? Don't rub it or anything," he cautioned.

"No promises, Sam. It's going to itch like hell," Dean said grumpily, his hand already rising up to touch it. Sam slapped it away, earning a hurt and resigned look from him brother.

He started to tilt Dean's head back to clean the cut on his temple, but Dean jerked away, shoving Sam's hand down. "I can take care of the rest. You got your own shit to attend to," he said reasonably, his eyes focused in on one of the more vicious scratches across Sam's stomach that was currently right at his eye level.

For a moment, Sam considered arguing, but Dean was already reaching for one of the towels hanging on the bar and standing, crowding Sam out of the small room. Sam felt like something approaching hurt and bewilderment that Dean had denied his help, though it wasn't completely unexpected. What was a little more surprising was that Dean wasn't forcing Sam down on the toilet to attend to his wounds before even thinking about his own. They were so broken, all their normal patterns torn apart.

Sam hadn't intended to wear the pain rushing through him at the thought on his face, but he must have, because Dean's own harsh features softened slightly.

"Dude, I think we've lost enough blood today. It will just save time. You need any help, you just holler, all right? I'll do the same," Dean promised.

It was the reasonable solution, they had been bleeding for a while, dirty wounds probably getting more infected every second, but it still didn't feel right. He nodded jerkily and started to turn back to the bed where the remainder of the medical supplies were laid out.

"Hey Sam?" Dean called.

Sam turned back, eyebrow raised in question.

Dean turned and turned on the faucet to wet down the towel in his hand and tossed it to Sam. "You'll probably need that." He made as if to turn back, then paused. He looked back over at Sam and gestured to his head. "Thanks for patching up my noggin, man," he said sincerely.

Sam nodded and watched the door shut with finality. The sound of rushing water followed as Dean turned on the shower and it got Sam moving, slipping out of his shirts gingerly, letting them fall wherever. They weren't salvageable, so he didn't need to care about wrinkles at this point. The dresser across the room had a big mirror and Sam looked over his body carefully, dabbing the damp towel over the worse spots. Definitely no stiches needed, at least he didn't think so. Just lots and lots of bandages. Good thing they had restocked recently.

Sam started to unwind the gauze when something filtered into his range of hearing over the sounds of the shower. It sounded like a lot of people all whispering different things at once, no words identifiable, just the sharp "s" sounds piercing into his ears and the softer blend of consonants making him strain to make sense of them. It was loud enough that it had to be coming from the room. He tilted his head slightly, trying to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. The noise seemed to be coming from the bathroom.

Dean was well known for his vocal showers. It wasn't uncommon to hear Dean singing the same classic metal songs he forced on Sam on every car ride, or shouting to Sam above the sound of the water or the times when he was jerking off and forgot that his little brother was in the next room and groaned just a little too loudly. Just a fact of life living in close quarters with another dude. But this was different, and anyway, Dean couldn't be making that noise by himself.

Stepping forward carefully, still trying to pick any words out of the layers of voices, Sam made his way back over to the bathroom door, the whispering growing in volume, but not clarity. It was almost overwhelming, his head starting to pound at the shrill cacophony. He pressed his ear to the door, wincing as the volume increased yet again. He could hear the patter of the water hitting the shower curtain and floor beneath the whispering, but it was too static, like Dean wasn't actually moving beneath the water. Like he was just standing there, or not in the shower at all.

Sam opened the door.

The whispering stopped abruptly

The sound of the water was suddenly loud without the overlay of the whispering, and was fluctuating in sound as it if hadn't been doing anything different, bouncing around and cutting out as it hit the moving body outlined through the thin shower curtain. The curtain was shifting at the side, Dean's fingers pulling it back slightly, his dripping and annoyed face peeking out at him.

"This ain't a peep show, Sam," he started, then the annoyance in his features faded into concern as he focused more on Sam.

Sam wasn't exactly sure what he was seeing, but Sam knew how he was feeling right now. Confused. Worried. Frightened. He hadn't imagined what he'd heard, it had been too clear, too distinct to mistake it for something else. It had been coming from this room and the second Sam intruded, it had stopped.

"You all right, Sammy? You need help?" Dean asked, wiping a hand over his eyes to flick away some of the water dripping from the hair that had fallen onto his forehead, all big brother mode now. It was good to know that would still kick in in times of extreme duress. Sam had been starting to wonder.

"Did you hear that?" Sam asked hoarsely, his eyes now darting around the room for another source of the noise.

Concern bled into confusion. "Hear what?" Dean asked, his narrowed eyes following the same darting path Sam's had.

"The whispering." It was pointless to even bother saying it. If Dean had heard it, he would have known what Sam was talking about. In fact, he would have been out of the shower and armed within seconds if he had heard it. So either Sam was going nut balls and imagined it, or Dean for some reason just couldn't hear it. There was a third possibility, but it's not one Sam wanted to explore.

Maybe Dean was lying. Maybe Dean had heard it, or worse, had been making the noise.

Why he would do that, or even how, Sam didn't know, and since he didn't have an answer and Dean's expression, the caution in his eyes, as he looked at Sam like he was crazy, seemed so genuine, he discarded that possibility.

"Never mind, I must have heard people outside or something," Sam mumbled, starting to back out of the room.

"You sure?" Dean questioned warily, pulling back the curtain farther like he was going to get out of the shower.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Just need to sleep. Sorry." Sam backed fully out the room, pulling the door shut, cutting off the suspicious gaze of his brother, still leaning out of the shower and staring at him.

Sam slumped down on the bed, running his hands over his face and through his hair, tightly clenching his eyes shut. First he sees something moving on Dean's head, now he's hearing things. For a moment he thought that maybe he had gone too long without Ruby's blood, but he knew that wasn't it. He knew what that felt like; the sharp ache of starvation and dehydration that made his veins feel empty and closed. This wasn't that.

Maybe it was some sort of side effect to the antidote they took. Dad hadn't written anything about it and it seemed like he would have mentioned it if it had happened, but it could just be hitting Sam differently. Dean wasn't experiencing anything abnormal, or at least he hadn't mentioned it. So it was just Sam. He was perfectly sane this morning, not seeing or hearing things, so this had to be caused by something.

Or he was just exhausted beyond straight thinking. And injured on top of it.

He decided then that if he was still having problems after a good night's sleep, he would worry about it then. Right now, he would just follow the normal after hunt routine; shower to wash away the blood and dirt as soon as Dean was out, then he was going to crawl into bed and sleep as long as he needed to. A part of him was nagging that he should tell Dean about it, but he didn't want to worry Dean any more than he already had until he was sure that there really was something going on. If anything else strange happened tonight, he would tell Dean, but for now, he was going to assume that it was tired mind playing tricks on him.

He prayed that is all it was.

* * *

_TBC..._


End file.
